Apathy
by kiminitodoke
Summary: "London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down. My heart is breaking now, my fair..." Please read, review, and enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Howdy, everyone! I wanted to make something different and I hope that this is it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji nor the song that is referenced.

I don't know why I killed them. They did nothing wrong. They were everything I wasn't: caring, loving, attentive. Maybe it was for that reason that I ended their life. They were too different from me. It was unnatural and eerie how we differentiated. Aren't we supposed to be similar in some regard? I mean, I am the apple and it seems as if I was pitched off into another dimension. Possibly, there was something wrong with me. Possible, but not likely in my opinion. After all, I did alert the police of my actions. What irresponsible person would do that? Matter of fact, I spoke with ease and was very collected. I think if I were an actor, my performance would have gotten me the Grammy. Anyways, beside the call, the killing wasn't grotesque or anything. I did it when they were sleeping so it could it be peaceful. It was very elegant, in my perspective. A quick slice to a neck, cutting the important artery that lay there, successfully shorting the life of the man. The blood oozed out of the wound, waking the woman that slept beside him. I ended her life with a delicate shove that led her head to connect to the headboard. The right temple that had been dealt the blow had momentarily stunned her, but I reached over and gracefully entered the knife through her stomach. Not a killing blow, per se, but I did repeat the process to be thorough. All in all, a very pleasant death. It could have been a lot more gruesome, but I did care for them in someway or fashion. Care...Did I care? Rather, could I? It doesn't matter anymore, I suppose. After I finished cleaning myself from the mess, I decided that the house looked unkept, so I light a match and let it fall in their room. I did the same thing some others. I entered a room, seeing if anything interests me in the slightest. Nothing did. I set that room on fire too. I took the phone that was placed in the kitchen and left the burning house. As I watched smoke fill the unveiled windows, I dialed 911.

"What is your emergency?" The question left me puzzled. There was no dire emergency. Nonetheless, I proceeded to rely the information.

"I murdered my parents. I also set my home on fire. I suppose that police cars and fire trucks are needed. By the look of it, you should hurry on the fire trucks," I said. Silence. "Well, I'm going to hang up now. Have a good night." I clicked the phone off. I turned around to look at my once living quarters. No memories stood out amongst the rest. They all blended together: dull, meticulous, and ever so boring. That could be another factor why I did the thing I did. Because it was a chance to make new memories. The sound of sirens pulled me out of my reverie. I threw the phone in the fire that was starting to overwhelm the house. I waited, staring at the black smoke that had escaped the enclosed building. Finally, I heard tires screech their way onto my driveway. A command was shortly given to put my hands up. Like I was going to resist. Still, I did as I was told. I felt hands clasp my wrists and tug them behind my back to handcuff me. My Miranda rights were given to me as I was shuffled toward the squad car. The door swung open and I was stuffed inside. I took one more glance at the starting chapter of my life. It was just a prelude. It was time to turn the page to write something new.

The car was absent of any conversation. The static of the walkie-talkies filled my ears. The shadows blocked my view of the officers' faces. I quickly gave up on the idea of seeing of them. I wondered silently to myself if I would be extradited back to England, but I guess that would be figured out at the arraignment. I laid my head against the glass, enjoying the coolness it provided.

Before I knew it, my mouth had started to form words. My throat vibrated as sound was produced. "London Bridge is falling down, falling down...falling," I trailed off. At last, the car's engine was powered up, and the man maneuvered his way past his comrades. The image of the house collapsing imprinted itself in my mind. "Down"


	2. Chapter 2

My second longest chapter! yea! There are a few terms that might cause confusion but if you are dying to know what they mean, ask me. I love questions. The story will pick up in speed so don't quit on me now. I would like to thank gaaralover51141 for leaving their kind words. It made me want to write more so thanks. This is dedicated to you so I hope you like it. Also, thanks for the followers. I don't know how to see the screen name but thanks very much.

I

am currently undergoing intense interrogation. Not so much as intense but tedious. "Why did you murder your mother and father?" This was the question that was most frequently asked. If I knew the answer, I would have gave it to me just for the reason of getting them to stop. Though, it was amusing seeing the officers scurrying around, trying to find my hidden agenda, but nothing was more entertaining than the psychologist. That was when the fun began.

A male struts into the enclosed room. I am positioned in a way that I face the glass window. I know what is behind there, and I am positive that most people do as well. He sits across from me. He has papers in a folder, and he lays them on the table top. He is dressed in a light pastel t-shirt. I don't know if it was intentional but this could be a technique to try to soothe me or let my guard down by the guy. Either way, it does close to nothing on pacifying me. In fact, I am enraged at him attempting to control me. I show my disdain with a scowl. His arms are apart, communicating to me that he is open and wants the feeling to be mutual. He leans in slightly, meaning that he is willing to listen to what I have to say. He does not lean too much though because he is afraid that he might be intimidating me or pressuring me by entering my personal space. He is aware of every muscle. He is trying to manipulate me. I am not pleased. Not at all.

"Mr. Phantomhive, do you know why you are here?" he inquires. He's fishing. I am not someone who committed something from heat of passion nor do I have dissociative personality disorder. I am not insane or temporarily insane. It's not premeditated. I don't have retrograde amnesia. I am fine. This is where my fun starts.

"No. I have no idea. I just remember waking up. Alone. In a cell. I'm scared. Why are you asking so many questions? I just wanna go home! Where are my parents? Can I call them? Are they mad at me? Is that why they are not here?" I force my eyes to water. Inside, I am having a blast. The man looks confused. Almost dumbfounded. This only enhances my enjoyment. I can see the wheels turning in his head. I can hear the axons and dendrites sending messages to one another. He is thinking.

His mouth opens and closes. His hand clenches. He is puzzled, and I am happy. He clears his throat and speaks, "I was under the impression that you are aware of your crime and surroundings. I am sorry that I assumed otherwise." This is when he makes his first mistake. He shows weakness, his insecurity. He twitches in the direction of the window. He is unconsciously looking for help or validation. I know then and there that I am going to break this man. "You said that the first thing you remember is waking up. Do you remember how you got there?" I shake my head. He pauses. "Ciel, what do you think of your parents?" He changes the course of his questions. That was his second mistake. He addresses me in a informal way. Though this could be used to get on a more personal level, it could also insult or offend someone. Eastern countries in particular are greatly offended by this assumption as am I.

By this time, I had let the tears streak down my face. My nose runs wild and though it is repulsive, I make no move to clean myself. The more childish I look, the more likely he is to believe me. "My parents? My mom is the best. She used to sing to me to sleep. She gives me kisses every time I go out. She loves me and I love her. My dad... I don't want to talk about him," I sob quietly. I made up the decision to act abused. The abuser being my father. Though this would give me reason to kill him, it could also work in my favor. I just have to portray it right.

"Your mother sounds like a nice lady." He uses present tense. He is trying to keep up the pretense that they are still living. This is the wrong move in case if I really did have a problem. "Why don't you want to talk about your dad, Ciel?" His approach seems to be based off the humanistic theory. I am not going to fall for it.

"I just don't feel like it," Iwhine. Now that he knows that I am not going to participate, he is going to have to change his tactic.

"Is the reason why you don't want to talk about him because he did something to you? Did he hurt you in any way?" He is directing me. I don't take the bait. We sit there in silence. At this point, I am growing more bemused at the situation at hand. He is so frustrated.

"Did you call my mom yet? She doesn't know where I am, and she will get worried," I play the part of a child despite my age of 15. The man had yet to give his name and by that, I know he is new to this kind of environment. He's lost in the forest that is my mind. He had no chance. He excuses himself and uses the door that is connected to the window. He is going to converse with the people behind it. I wait patiently. My face is still the epitome of Innocent. It takes about ten minutes until he reappears.

"Ciel, in the beginning, you asked for your parents. Meaning your father. Why would you do that?" How clever. Someone had informed him of my slip. My interest in him diminishes a little but grows at the unknown person. I need to convince him even more.

"My mom loves my dad. And I love my mom. So I love my dad too," I have to keep things simple. In order for this to work, they have to think I have the mentality of a naive child.

"If you love your dad, why won't you talk about him?" He is pushing me, and I don't take kindly to people who do that. I am heating up with anger.

"I want to go home, now! Call my mom! I want to talk to her!" I am getting tired of this normal man. He is below average in everything and it infuriates me. He is angry too. In the next second, he has flung the envelope open, revealing images of my parents charred bodies. This was the first I saw of the pictures. They don't make me cringe nor avert my eyes. No emotion registers in my mind. I feel nothing but indifference, but for this act, I react. I scream out in distress. I cover my face and cry.

"Look at this, Ciel! Your mom can't see you because you killed did. Do you understand? You stabbed her and set her on fire! Do you remember that? How about when you called the police? Does that ring a bell?" He abandoned the humanistic for the rational-emotional method . He wants me to crack.

"NO! MOM! What did you do to her!?" I morph my face to anguish. He appears to regret his decision, but it is too late to take back his forceful questioning. He is an amateur, and it makes me tire of him. I am going to put an end to the charade because it proves to be no fun anymore. So I smile. I widen it so he sees all my teeth. It is not a smile that reveals happiness but more of malice. Something sinister. He is shocked. He knocks his chair over as he bolts from it. He backs away as I cackle at his display. He makes way to the door and leaves me alone. I continue to laugh. Even he should know that this was a play. That I am not crazy but perfectly in tune with my thoughts and actions. That I am not suffering from anything traumatic. That I am just your typical sociopath.


	3. Chapter 3

A new month, a new chapter!

I would always wonder as a child why I differed from my peers. Their smiles were genuine. My weren't. They laughed and cared for others, but I couldn't. All the emotions they felt seemed strange to me. Unattainable. When I reached the age to use computers, I obsessively researched various emotions. The definitions were wrong to me. I didn't experience anything that I read. At best, my feelings paled compared to what I've read and seen. They were superficial. My relationships with others were nonexistent. It was to much of a hassle to keep up the pretense that I cared for their problems or them. When they needed something or they became useless, I ended it. I couldn't help it. It was just the way I was programmed. Which lead to the extensive amount of time spent on trying to find what I was. I think it was around the age 11 that I found out my nature. sociopathy.

After my little theatrics, I was put in a holding cell. There were people already seated. No seat was open. I walked to the space that was closest to the bars, standing in front of the person that occupied the bench. He was medium build, brown hair and eyes. Unimpressive.

"Get up," that was all I said. I waited. The guy crinkled his eyebrow and a frown formed.

"No, you little midget. This is my seat," he crossed his arms, puffing out his chest. What a Neanderthal. That seat belonged to me. Someone who could actually refrain from using kindergarten insults.

Hostility began to bubble inside me. How dare he deny me of my right to sit down! Consumed by my rage, I attacked him in the way I did with my mother; however, it only took one slam to the temple to knock him out. The other people in the cell started to yell and jump in horror. They cluttered together like sheep in the opposite corner.

I pushed the limp body away from my spot and sat. I rested my chin on my chest, intending to zone out until my arraignment would commence. My mediation broke when I felt tugging of my arms. The coolness of the restraints were familiar. I knew they were handcuffs. I was roughly lead back to the integrating room.

A woman this time came to speak to me. "Why did you do that? You are only making your sentencing worse," she stated. I scoffed. What is aggravated assault charges going to do to my second degree murder sentence? Very little. This woman was too dimwitted to be a cop.

"It's not my fault. I asked him to kindly move, and instead of considering my request, he verbally assaulted me. I had no choice but to retaliate. You know how it is in prison. You have to assert your dominance before you are being asserted over. I merely was sticking up for myself and defending my right to sit. If he would have given up his seat, this would have never happened," I explained. Surely even she can comprehend.

"That's complete bullshit," I cringed at her weak vocabulary. "You weren't in a threatening situation. That was not even prison. It's a holding cell. Besides, him insulting you gives you no permission to hit him the way you did. The only thing you accomplished by your little stunt is move your arraignment for this morning. Don't think that your actions won't be tag on to your previous charges," she finished. It was about time. This scenery was getting stale. "Since we think that you are a danger to the fellow people around you, we decided to keep the cuffs on you and have someone monitor you in this room. Fortunately, it won't be me," She got up and left.

My wrists were becoming sore and I detest discomfort. I need to get them off, now. In the many books that I have read, the detail of escaping the metal contractions came up once or twice. I tried to dislocate my thumb but the door interrupted me.

Tall. The length of his body must be around 6 feet 3. He is dressed in formal wear. The crease in his pants magnifies his height. His shoulders are broad. He is slim. His eyes are amber, but the lack of light made me unsure. He is white and attractive. He walks in with an air of confidence. He situated himself in the chair across from me. He bears no equipment. He crosses one leg over the other. He sits there in silence. He is focused on me.

I don't bother to say anything either. I opted out on the idea of distorting my body and thought of another course of action.

"My name is Ciel. What's yours?" Manipulation. A key trait in sociopaths. Maybe I can try to convince him to release me. But it is ineffective. He does not reply. His stare never wavers. It doesn't upset me though because I spot an identification latched on to his jacket. Sebastian Michaelis. interesting...

"So why were you put in babysitting duty? Did you do something bad and this is your punishment? After all, I'm not the most pleasant person to be around, right Sebastian?" I expect him to be a little surprised, and I try to catch any indication of it on his face. There is none. A minute pass and he has yet to answer me. Just when I am about to speak, he smiles. I know that I am impaired when it comes to emotions, but even to me, this seems out of place. His words only baffle me more.

"I chose to be here." That is all he offers in his baritone voice. The quality of it does not irate me as much as other's voices do.

I tilt my head. He wants to be here with me? I am more curious about this man. There is something about him that makes you think.

"Why?" I want the reason, and I will get it. No matter what I would have to do. He says nothing to me. Our staring contest continues. In fact, for the rest of the night, he remains quiet. The only thing that distills the silence is the bathroom breaks we take separately. It is not long until I am herded out of the room to converse with my attorney. I peek behind me as I am ushered out. He has let his leg down and his body his turned slightly towards me. His face, though, makes me bewildered. I can't wait till our next encounter.

My meeting with my lawyer does not last long, and we go into the court room. I take my stance behind my chair. I blank out what they are saying until I am directly asked how do I plead. "Not guilty." The prosecutor has a fit. She demands that I won't be released on bail. The judge agrees. I am put in a cell by myself this time.

I forgot to mention what the prosecutor charged me with: two counts of first degree murder and assault for today. Also, she wants to try me for an adult despite my age. Family court is not an option for her.

My defense team managed to drop the charges to two counts of second degree. Like I predicted. My attorney persuaded the judge by revealing that I exhibited conduct disorder, which in my opinion was a prequel to antisocial personality. I am going to prison for...a long time. The number didn't sink in because I think I might be able to get off in less time.


	4. Chapter 4

Wow! It's been forever since I updated this. Sorry. But I will try to do better so review, yeah? Ace will be updated too, but I am struggling with this particular chapter. If anyone has any tips, please leave them! Enjoy!

There is nothing to do in my cell. My roommate or cell mate is a complete bore. He consistently asks for sex. If it is not from the guards that take care of us, it is from me. That is when this prison actually lives up to its title. I hate him. He whines and begs for me to take him every chance he gets. It is at night that I get release from his nagging because he passes out from furiously masturbating.

His name is Alois Trancy. He is currently serving life in prison with no chance of parole for dismembering three of his many lovers. The reason as to why I am stuck with him is because they diagnosed him with multiple personality disorder, yet from what I can see, the only personality I've been exposed to was that of a needy whore. Alois said he did it because they wouldn't fuck him anymore. Since I don't have an justification of why I killed my own flesh and blood, I accept his explanation.

However, I am getting to a point where I might just kill him to get some peace and quiet. Today he is acting worse than usual. He refused to put his jump suit on, and he has climbed up on my bed, sliding his hand up and down his dick. He is pleading, and I am starting to form a major headache so I pull my dick out of my confining clothes and stuff it in his mouth. Anything to shut him up.

I don't show him any affection, but the way he is reacting, I think he likes it. I pull at his hair, forcing him off me, and ramming myself back inside. He gags, and though my body enjoys his experience, I am taking more pleasure in knowing that he is almost completely silent since I got here.

I am getting closer unlike the slut that sucking me. He has already came twice. He is so deprived of another's touch that he came immediately after I started mouth-fucking him. He starts to pull away, but I hold his head still as I thrust so hard and far into his throat that he chokes. It doesn't help him when I spill my cum into his abused mouth.

I let go of him. I want him to leave and go back to his bed, but he doesn't. Instead, he turns, and pushes out his butt for me. His asshole has been stretched recently. It's waiting to be filled. Though he makes me sick, I insert myself into him. In and out without out pause or hesitation, I pound. He is starting to make noises and I can't stand his voice so I wrap a hand around his throat and start to strangle him. It is just making him meet my thrust harder. He loves it and I squeeze more because I can.

Sociopaths have an urge to sexually act out which I guess I am currently doing. It's not that I am attractive to this wanton thing, but my body wants the stimulation. I tighten my grip on his neck as I increase my speed. There is no sounds anymore and that makes me ejaculate. I pull out and push him out of my bed. He must have some luck because his head hits his bag before he lands on the floor. It is not a huge wound, but I can see some blood seeping out of a cut he just got. The large thump mush have altered the guards since they are there, unlocking our cell. They can that but they couldn't hear the sex? Perverted old men probably wanted to hear.

Alois is carried to probably the medic section, and I am pulled off my bed and put into cuffs. They lead me out, with my dick still hanging out of my pants. I am scooted into a room at a different part of the prison. I have yet to remember the building since I became an inmate a week ago. I will memorize it now, though.

I am alone for a while until someone comes in. It's that man. Sebastian. He sits across from me. The table blocks him from me and that just won't do. I stand up and sit on the desk. He briefly looks down at my lap. I am big for my age and I know I am desirable. Irreistable yet he looks up. I hate that.

...

Just like the first time, he doesn't say anything. He makes me go first.

"So we meet again, Mr. Michaelis. Or Sebastian, I suppose. After all, we hardly are strangers, now are we?" Charm. Another key characteristics of sociopaths. So I make use of my ability but he remains impassive. I lean in closer and blow in his face just to see a reaction, but there is none. He is infurating me, so I reach with my chained hands and grab his tie to pull him closer to me: no facial movements. "Didn't your parents tell you it was rude to not respond when spoken to you?"

A smirk. "Didn't your parents tell _you_ it was rude to kill them unexpectedly?" His arms cross over as do his leg. He wants to make it clear that he wants boundaries between us. I move closer.

His comment should make me angry. I am not. I can't feel remorse or guilt for the past. I wouldn't want to either. "Funny, Sebastian. Did you come here as my personal comedian? To be honest, humor does not fit your demenaor," I say. He uncrosses his limbs and stands to hover over me. My looks draw him like I expect. I open my legs even more. Again, he glances down, but this time he laughs. Laughs! "Why are you laughing? You are supposed to be my jester, not the other way around," I seeth. This man had better watch his tongue.

"Mr. Phantomhive, you must know by now why I am here. You are intelligent enough to reach that conclusion, no?" He ignores my question, but since he boosted my already inflated ego, I let it slide. I am smart. Too smart that I will feign stupidity to launch my plans for the future.

"You give me too much credit. I am just a teenage so why don't you tell me what you are, okay?" Ditzy and clueless. He must believe that. I need him to believe me.

His smug face switches to stone. Something I said made him upset, which meant that I made a mistake so early in the game. "You are fully aware of my occupation, Ciel. Manipulation won't work on me. I suspect that was your scheme from the beginning, right? You might as well drop your act and start being who you really are. Even if you don't, I know _what_ you are." His gaze his like fire. It scorches me more as he stares at me.

Hmm, I need to change tactics. "If you didn't know my diagnoses, I would be very disappointed with you. That is your speciality, isn't Sebastian? Criminal psychologists can recognize people like me in an instance," I tell him. I had hoped he wasn't who I that he was. If he was just a cop, I could have used him easily, but now, I am going to have to try twice as hard. He knows all my tricks, my traits, virtually everything, but he is a man. A human. And all humans are subject to deception.

His next move surprises even me. He grabs my penis. His hand his hot on my bare skin which was cool from the chilled room. He has yet to release me: in both his stare and grip. My lips part but they snap close as he tugs on me. He does it again and before I can ask what he was doing, he tucks me back into my pants.

He erects himself and turns to leave. He has the doorknob in his hand and he looks behind him and says, " I can check 'promiscuity' off the list, too. Oh, when you involve yourself in sexual intercourse, you should consider other people. You were quite loud," He mocks, grins, and leaves.

Bastard.


End file.
